


Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Literal porn, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: an outrageous side fic to ‘don’t come for me argentina.’ what Dele and Harry were up to on the phone in a strip club.my first smut. dreadfully fifthy. either terribly sorry or terribly you’re welcome.





	Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You

**Author's Note:**

> in honour of the illustrious bellelaide, the love of my life and father of my children

Harry was hoping for an early night.

He loves long flights, he really does. He loves watching films, because loads of them aren’t out on DVD yet, or you’d just forget that they existed. He loves playing UNO or spoons or whatever game Dele ropes them into. He loves cuddling under blankets and rolling the seat out horizontally, and looking out of the window onto clouds and trying to guess where they were flying over. But he can’t sleep on planes, he just can’t, so he was really looking forward to stumbling into the hotel, calling Eric to say goodnight, and passing the fuck out.

What he wasn’t expecting was Dele to suggest a night out, and what he definitely wasn’t expecting was a strip club. 

‘This one looks sick,’ Dele said, passing his phone around. ‘Fucking karaoke bar too. No one needs to tell Poch it just so happened to have strippers as well.’

‘I don’t know, Del,’ Harry said from across the circle they were all sat in. ‘Eric wouldn’t like it.’ He feels a bit uneasy at the idea of going anywhere without all three of them being together, but this is really pushing the boat out. 

‘Eric isn’t  here ,’ Dele scoffed, meeting his eyes a bit too deliberately. ‘Come on, Winksy. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’ll be funny!’ He says ‘funny’ too loudly, and it sounds forced. Harry squirms in his seat under his gaze and bites the inside of his lip uneasily. 

Ndombele starts talking but Harry keeps looking at Dele. He’s certain that Eric wouldn’t approve of this. He knows it, so he’s overcome with confusion as to why Dele would keep insisting on it - why he’d suggest it in the first place? Dele is always so protective, so possessive of him, even more than Eric. Only last week, they’d gone out for dinner with some of the england boys, and Harry had got a bit tipsy with Chilly - not even that much, just enough to make his cheeks pink, and everything funny. Chilly had been sitting next to him in the booth, and the later the night got, the funnier everything became. Ben had started telling Harry about this one time Slabhead was meeting kids at St. George’s and there was this girl, like seven, and she started talking, ‘and his face, oh Harry, he was confused, and he was like, ‘I’m really sorry, love, I don’t speak French,’ and this girl,’ Ben laughed into Harry’s shoulder, breathing hot onto his neck. ‘Was like, ‘I’m not french I’m Welsh!’ and his face-‘

Harry had known they were being a little over the top, but the alcohol was making his brain fuzzy and warm, and at that moment he’d thought Ben was the funniest person imaginable, and he was about to whisper something back when Dele had leaned over Harry to barge in with,

‘I speak French.’

Both Ben and Harry had looked at him, totally confused. 

Harry giggled. ‘No you don’t.’ 

‘Yeah I do.’ Dele had said, louder, putting a hand on Harry’s thigh. Harry had tried to elbow it away, but Dele gripped his knee and stared at Ben challengingly.

‘Go on then,’ Ben had grinned, slurring his words on account of at least four jäger bombs and some kind of a pink cocktail he’d shared with Harry.

The table had gone a bit quiet. Harry could feel the eyes on them, and Dele had scoffed, before stuttering ‘bonjour. J’appelle Dele. There you go.’

‘It’s ‘je m’appelle,’ Del,’ Madders had piped up. ‘It’s like, ‘I call myself.’’

Dele frowned, looking ruffled. ‘I call myself? Who says that?’ he scoffed. Harry thanked the Redknapp in the sky that a waitress had come along at that moment to bring them more shots.

Dele had kept his hand on Harry’s knee all the rest of the night, much to Eric’s amusement across from him. Harry had sucked Dele off twice before they even got home, and later promised something about no one ever giving it to him that good. It had been quite a night.

So it’s with a crinkled forehead that Harry shuffles across the room to sit next to Dele. ‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Del,’ he mumbles, his voice masked by the deliberations of the others. ‘What would Eric-‘

‘It was his fucking idea, okay?’ Dele mutters, a hint of a smile on his voice. ‘Just go along with it, tell you in the car.’

Harry’s mind reels with the revelation? Who’d have thought that Eric Beans On Toast Dier, Eric Wrong Side of Ibiza Dier, Eric REM Cycle Research Suggests Eleven Is Too Late For Bedtime Dier, would have permitted, let alone suggested, the two of them go out to a strip club? Sure, some of the things they got up to together were unreasonably kinky - like the time Harry had got stuck in his yoga belt in training and Eric had had to excuse himself, before recreating the scene with his Boss tie later that evening - but his moral high ground rivalled Everest and everything about strip joints seemed to scream unethical, unhealthy and entirely uncharacteristic of him. 

Harry’s shocked gaze is only broke as Jan hands Dele’s phone back to him. ‘Why not? It’s preseason. We should enjoy ourselves.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Dele cries excitedly, rubbing Harry’s thigh just too high up. ‘Right, I’m going to ask the concierge to book some cars. Let’s do this.’

Harry follows him out of the room as the others reminisce that night Danny Rose is referring to when he talks about FIFA’s racism fines. Dele’s got a sort of energy about him, like there’s electricity tingling at his fingertips, and Harry’s anxious to find out what on Earth is going on.

They take a separate car, and the driver’s English is clearly a non-starter, so Harry bounces his knee as they pull away waiting for Dele to explain. There’s silence for a minute as Dele scrolls through his phone and Harry waits patiently.

‘Haha, look.’ he grins, thrusting the phone into Harry’s face. ‘Whipped.’ Harry nods at the truly wonderful work of the photographer who ‘had to have photoshopped H’s nose, she just had to,’ and shrugs.

‘Are you going to explain it now?’ he asks, not so patiently. 

Dele looks over, his head resting on his shoulder. A flash of confusion passes through his face then his eyes light up. ‘Oh! Yeah! Yeah.’ He nods vigorously and grins despite himself. ‘We’re in for a fucking night, mate.’ He laughs with his tongue between his teeth, almost giggling with delight. ‘So Eric’s having lunch with his mum, right, then he has physio, but he said we can call him at 5 which is eleven here.’

‘Eleven?!’ Harry’s jaw drops. ‘Del, that’s, like, two hours!’ He moans. 

Dele shrugs. ‘Yeah, and?’

Harry pouts. They could easily have found an excuse to delay their trip and stay back at the hotel until eleven. On the plane he’d been watching a documentary called the secret life of the zoo, or something, and he’d quite like to finish it, really. Or even just nap for two hours. Spending two hours waiting to call Eric from a strip club was not really how he’d envisioned spending the evening. ‘Well - what are we gonna do for two hours?’

Dele looks at him the way a child would look at puzzle pieces that don’t fit. ‘What? Winksy, it’s a strip club. The whole point of being there is that they provide the entertainment. Gosh, you’re such a virgin sometimes.’ Dele shakes his head, grinning like a cat.

Harry gasps and frowns petulantly. ‘M not a virgin!’ He shoves Dele and sticks out his bottom lip. He knows he’s being childish but he’s tired and jetlagged and right now he just wants to go to sleep, not be dragged into a sleazy, grimy club and have to spend the evening pretending to be Érik Lamela.

‘Catch yourself on, baby Winks,’ Dele grins with smug satisfaction, smugger still with what he presumably thinks is a good Derry Girls impression.

‘That’s awful.’ Harry grumbles. ‘You’re not good at accents, Del.’ He sighs and looks out the window at the dusky twilight resting on the city he doesn’t know. ‘Just wanna go to bed.’ he grumbles into his sleeve.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, cheer up.’ Dele’s still grinning and shoves him, hard, and Harry frowns back at him. ‘We’re going out and we’re gonna have a good time, okay?’ He’s settles into the seat with a contented smirk that admittedly looks very 

‘But why can’t we go out tomorrow? Or, like, not to a strip club?’ Harry whines. 

‘Cause we’re going tonight.’ Dele says with an air of finality, scrolling through his phone again, his attention clearly lost.

‘But I don’t wanna.’ Harry huffs, folding his arms. ‘I just wanna go home and go to bed, it’s not fair, I don’t wanna come out! I’m tired and it’s too hot, and I hate strip clubs, and it’s gonna be gross and greasy and full of people and-‘

‘Winksy, I swear, if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you.’ Dele looks at him with hooded eyes and there’s an edge to his voice that shuts Harry right up. He looks at Dele out of the corner of his eye and the subtext of his statement is blatantly obvious. Harry bites his lip and looks up at Dele, his dark eyes even bigger than normal. 

Harry bats his eyelashes, just once, and locks eyes with Dele.

‘Make me.’ he murmurs, pouting still.

Silence crackles between like sexual electricity, and there’s a moment where Harry actually isn’t sure what Dele will do, but then he just smirks and raises his eyebrows. ‘Diet’s gonna love this.’

‘Love what?’ Harry pouts, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘You. Being so bratty. Proper gets him up.’ Dele grins, going back to his phone. Harry smiles absently at the thought. It’s usually Dele being demanding and possessive and Eric directing the energy towards Harry, taking advantage of how embarrassingly pliant he becomes so embarrassingly quickly. The idea that Eric-

‘You know what, let’s call him.’ Dele’s face is full of mischief and Harry lurches forward for the phone.

‘No!’ he cries, grappling to get it out of his hands. The taxi driver looks behind at the noise in the mirror and they both notice, making an awkward thumbs-up as he tuts and carries on talking into his AirPods. ‘You can’t call him! He’s busy!’ Harry hisses, reaching out in vain as the dialling screen comes up. 

After a moment, Eric’s chin appears on the screen, his jaw clenched. ‘What is it?’ he mutters.

‘Hello to you too,’ Dele laughs obtusely, angling the camera to get both of them on the screen. 

‘Where are you?’ Harry asks anxiously.

‘With mum, this’d better be urgent.’ Eric’s eyes come into view and he’s clearly not happy.

‘Oh yeah, Harry’s-‘

Eric’s voice is quiet and unamused. ‘He’d better be fucking dying, Del, I swear.’

‘He doesn’t want to come out!’

‘What?’ Eric looks into the camera with a crinkled brow. ‘Why not, Winksy?’

‘M tired.’ Harry pouts. ‘Wanna go to bed.’

‘Had a long day?’ Eric asks sympathetically.

‘Yeah. Drills all morning then press in the afternoon, ‘m knackered.’ Harry sighs. 

‘I know, Winksy,’ Eric’s voice is soothing and calm, kinder than Dele’s, and he smiles gently. ‘But I know you’re gonna have a good time, okay? We’re gonna have so much fun. Can you do it for me?’ Eric asks, his voice lowering a bit. Harry shifts in his seat. ‘Baby?’

Harry settles his shoulders but his bottom lip’s still sticking out. ‘Okay.’

‘You’re such a baby, Winksy.’ Dele shakes his head, but puts an arm around him.

‘Yeah, you are. Our baby.’ Eric smiles, his eyes soft at the edges, then glances quickly away from the camera. ‘Okay, mum’s calling, I’ve got to go. But we’re gonna have such a good time later, okay? Del, don’t get him too worked up before I call, will you?’

Dele grins and slides his hand discreetly up the back of Harry’s shirt. It’s colder than he was expecting and Harry squirms. 

‘Fuck off,’ Harry grins, breathless and more than a little embarrassed that he’s already hard. ‘Okay. Sorry. See you later.’

‘Later, boys.’ 

‘Bye, you bald-‘

Eric cuts off before he can finish.

When they get inside, it’s less greasy than Harry had expected, and the air con is better. Singapore’s air is hot and sticky, but the cool air wafts across his face as they’re guided down a corridor and into a long dark room that reminds Harry of Eric’s cinema room, a little bit, although that’s probably not the vibe he was going for.

Once they sit down, Harry can see how people could get into this whole thing. The lights are bright and colourful, but rather than actually lighting the room they leave a mysterious glow that looks really, really good on Dele’s cheekbones. Harry shivers and stays, on reflection, unsubtly close to Dele. They sit down on a sofa - with nice proper leather, that Eric would like, actually - and before he knows it Harry’s nose-deep in a second sugary concoction he ordered purely based on its colour, and cheering on Dele’s karaoke performance like it’s his job. He’s curled into the sofa like a cat, his legs tucked under him and his head propped up on the arm of the sofa. He can feel the drinks making their way steadily through his system. His brain feels bubbly, and he’s giggling like a girl and his cheeks are hot and if Eric were there beside him he might just pass out with the feeling. 

When Dele finishes ‘Like a Virgin,’ taking a dramatic bow so low that he nearly falls over, Harry whoops like a child and grins as he welcomes him back onto the sofa. Something about the bar has got into him, sure; the vibe of it is tangibly sexy and with every passing minute he’s more inclined to carry out Eric’s plan. The sofa dips under Dele’s weight and Harry flops back into the arm he stretches across the back of it. He snuggles into Dele’s side, still laughing at the performance, and Dele shuffles a bit to adjust, giggling right back but whispering a reminder in his ear that they’re ‘in public, okay, keep it in your pants, baby Winks.’

Harry’s got half an eye on his phone, waiting impatiently for the clock to reach eleven, and half an eye on the podia in the middle of the room. The girls - women - have little white and blue skirts and bras, with tiny shiny disks that catch the light and shake with the tiniest movement, casting little reflections across the room. He doesn’t share his teammates’ interest in the women so much - Paulo, he notices, is looking rather intently at one of the girls - _women_ \- sliding up and down her pole like a snake -but they’re certainly entertaining to watch. Harry wonders how much practice it would take to twirl like that around the silver poles. He’s got upper body strength, you know, so he’s certain it wouldn’t take him long to learn. Just the idea of it makes his toes curl and he feels Dele shift beside him, evidently just as affected.

He turns to Dele, but instead of watching the woman in front of them, his eyes are on Harry. Harry shivers under his gaze, dark and piercing, with that smirk that completely undoes Harry every time.

‘Having fun, Winksy?’ he murmurs, just loud enough to hear over the music.

Harry looks at him semi-seriously, his eyes wide and just as clouded with lust. His second Peach Bellini has softened his giggles and his mind is hazy at the edges.

‘Not sure it was a good idea to bring you here,’ Dele chuckles, raising an eyebrow and raking his nails up the inner thigh of Harry’s jeans. Harry shivers and presses closer to Dele as the other man takes another sip of his beer. 

‘What?’ Harry asks, not really understanding. 

‘You’re distracted. Ignoring me.’ Dele pouts, still smirking and curling his arm more possessively around Harry’s shoulders. 

‘Oh, no, Del,’ Harry lurches forward, distressed by the idea that he was playing the game wrong. His mild curiosity in the women writhing around the room paled i comparison with, well, whatever Eric had planned for them. Dele was warm and strong around him, and Harry couldn’t imagine wanting anything else. ‘I don’t-’ He twists around and puts a hand on Dele’s chest. He looks up through thick lashes into his eyes, hooded with desire. ‘Just want you.’ And he means it. Fuck, he means it. 

They just look at each other for a minute, half-smiles dripping with lust and adoration. Then Dele leans forward, his breath warm and ticklish against Harry’s neck.

‘You’re hotter than any of them,’ he whispers. ‘So pretty. Aren’t you? So pretty.’

Harry shivers and if the light wasn’t blue, he’d be embarrassed at how pink his cheeks had suddenly become. He grinds down on the sofa without meaning to and looks up at Dele again.

‘Are you all worked up already? Just from a bit of chat?’ Dele smirks, looking characteristically smug and rubbing his knees, slowly, deliberately. ‘Come on, sit here.’

Harry looks a tad alarmed. It’s one thing to take a separate car, sit by themselves in a corner and quietly pay the women not to come over again, please. It’s something else to get off surrounded by their teammates. ‘Del, I’m not sure- all the boys- don’t wanna cause a scene-’

‘Look,’ Dele comes closer to him, because somehow that’s possible, and goes through the different sofas. ‘Ndombele‘s definitely occupied, Chris looks like he’s never seen a thong before, who knows where Lamela’s got to. And Paulo and Jan are gayer than we are.’ He giggles, moving his hands down to Harry’s waist to hoist him over his thighs. Harry’s a little taken aback with the speed of the movement and sways on Dele’s lap, secured only by the hands wrapped around his hips holding him firmly in place. ‘Now, where were we?’ At this point in Harry’s alcohol cycle, Dele’s laughter almost as infectious as it is a definite turn on and they get closer and closer until-

At that moment, Dele’s phone rings. They both jump, the vibration between them harsh and unexpected. Dele quickly swipes across and puts it to his ear. After a second, his eyes go wide and he yells, ‘it’s Eric!’

Harry grins and leans forward, spurring a loud hello into the phone. He can’t hear what Eric’s saying, the phone’s not loud enough and he’s not close enough.

‘What’s he saying?’ he asks, pouting with frustration.

‘What? Yeah, I’ve got them.’ Dele continues. ‘Harry? Get my AirPods, will you? Right pocket.’

Harry adjusts himself so he’s leaning against the arm of the sofa, legs splayed sideways across Dele’s, and leans forward to root around in the pocket, carefully avoiding the semi Dele’s blatantly trying to brush him with. After a minute of fiddling with the two earpieces, he hears the little ‘buh-ling’ and Eric’s voice appears.

‘Hey, baby.’ Eric’s voice is dark but there’s an edge to it that Harry can’t quite grasp. 

‘Eric!’ he says, probably too loudly, noticing Paulo take a second away from Jan’s arse to look over at them from across the room. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in the car. Couldn’t wait to talk.’ he explains shortly.

‘Oh. How was physio?’ Harry asks brightly, relaxing into Dele’s shoulder. 

‘Physio? Oh, it was-’

‘Dunno about you two but I’m fucking hard, can we get on with it?’ Dele grumbles.

‘Forgot to mention, it’s not my car, I’m with Pat.’

Dele and Harry share the same look of shocked confusion.

‘Wait, so we can’t-‘

‘You can, but I can’t.’ Eric says in a smooth voice only they can hear cracks in.

‘How far away are you?’ Dele asks, his mouth curling up into a mischievous smile. 

‘Ten minutes? Five?’ Eric says flatly. Harry feels Dele’s hands around his waist again and he shifts to straddle Dele’s thighs. He feels them tense underneath and the sensation is enough to make him shudder.

‘We can fill five minutes, can’t we, Winksy?’ Dele begins, hands running far too low across Harry’s back.

‘Mhm,’ Harry whines, arching forward at the contact.

‘Well I’ve got a big jumper on, so go ahead. What’s it like, baby? What can you see?’ His voice is darker now, drowned in heat, and Harry melts at the sound.

‘Um, I don’t know,’ Harry mumbles. Now he’s on the spot he’s got no clue what to say. There are lights and women and Dele’s got a boner, but Eric probably knows that already. 

‘What’s that? Can’t hear you over the music,’ Eric says, louder.

‘Come on, Winksy. What’s she wearing?’ Dele’s voice is soft and sensual, and he gestures to the woman closest to them.

Harry coughs awkwardly. ‘She’s got a white and blue skirt - with sequins,’ he adds. ‘And she did have a bra on, with little stars for the nipples and kind of clear sequins, but Moussa’s holding it now.’ He giggles.

Eric clears his throat the other side, obviously trying not to picture Moussa Sissoko in the middle of this scene.

‘What’s she doing?’ he presses.

‘She’s dancing on a pole- she’s pole dancing,’ he corrects himself. ‘She’s-‘ he looks to Dele for reassurance, whose hands are stroking up and down Harry’s thighs. ‘She’s rubbing herself up and down it, and her tits are bouncing, and now she’s kind of twirling around it, with her legs out.’

‘Do you like it?’ Eric says slowly, evidently choosing his words wisely to sound as vague as possible. ‘Watching it?’ 

‘Yeah.’ he says, his voice almost hazy, the combination of Eric’s voice and Dele’s hands making him feel like he’s being pulled underwater. ‘It’s hot, innit, Del.’

‘I guess,’ Dele pipes up, his hands still on Harry’s thighs. ‘But honestly, Diet, I’m just getting off to Winksy.’

‘Oh really?’ Eric hums a little to try and normalise his voice.

‘Oh, you have no idea. You know how his mouth always opens when he’s concentrating? And how his lips pout? They’re so full, so fucking soft, like little pillows, like they were just made to suck cock. He was watching these girls and all I could think of was how good his lips look around my cock while you pound into him.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Eric chokes.

Harry’s heartbeat has sped up and he’s grinding down on Dele like he’s getting paid.

‘What? Don’t you agree?’ Dele’s smug grin is only accentuated by the hands he’s placed more deliberately around Harry’s arse.

‘Oh you know I do.’ Eric lets out a low laugh, which sounds more like a growl than he was probably going for. ‘Keep going, then.’

‘Oh, and his eyes.’ Dele smiles into the phone, looking directly at Harry as he talks. ‘They’re so big, such big button eyes, look so innocent, don’t they? Don’t you?’ He bounces his knee as he talks and Harry lets out a choked-off whimper. Dele pulls him to the left to straddle his right thigh. ‘When you’re on your knees and looking up at us, mouth full of cock, so good, such a good boy for us.’

Harry whines as he rocks back and forth on Dele’s knee, the friction gorgeous and breathtaking and nowhere near enough.

There’s a delay for a second at the other end, as if Eric hadn’t quite heard, and then a scuffle, and they hear a collection of random noises before the definite sound of Eric’s front door slamming.

‘When I said big jumper I meant big enough for a semi, Del, fuck’s sake.’ Eric growls. Harry breaks out of his daze and smirks at Dele, who returns it like a naughty child. ‘Go on then, snog him, nice and loud for me.’ 

‘Eric, we’re in-’ Harry begins to protest, but he’s cut off when Dele rushes forward with a murmured ‘finally’ and crashes their lips together. He’s knocked out for a moment, the force of the kiss overwhelming, like a bolt from the blue, striking him paralysed. Kissing Dele is so different from kissing anyone else - he kisses as though he’s running out of time, as though there’s something to find down Harry’s throat, as though, with one more millimetre, he could swallow Harry whole. Harry’s brain wakes up under his ministrations, re-centring himself on Dele’s lap and grinding shamelessly against him. He leans in further, drawn towards Dele like an iron filing to a magnet, circling around him like a twin planet, desperate to breathe his very air. He moans loudly into Dele’s mouth and can imagine no better feeling until he hears Eric grunt down the phone. They continue, sloppy, messy, hungry like they’ve been starved, until Eric clears his throat down the phone.

‘Del, could you wait to get him off? Or did you do it already?’

‘We waited!’ Harry answers for him, Dele still wiping his spit-slick lips.

‘Nothing at all? Really?’

‘Been bucking like a bronco on my lap but I haven’t touched him.’ Dele mutters .

‘Good boys.’ Eric chuckles, almost incredulous. Harry preens at the praise but he feels Dele prickle at the lack of faith. ‘Want you to come at least twice before you leave.’ Harry shudders at the idea and feels Dele move likewise underneath him.

‘Won’t be fucking hard. Could probably get baby Winks off with one hand,’ Dele smirks.

Harry pouts and tries to cuff him around the head but Dele grabs his hand and secures it behind his back, growling from the back of his throat with the same smug look.

‘Go on then.’ Eric’s voice is commanding, authoritative, and everything about it makes fireworks go off in Harry’s brain, which multiply infinitely when Dele finally, finally gets a hand on him. He rubs in smooth strokes up and down the front of his jeans, and Harry writhes helplessly, bucking his hips up into Dele’s hand. 

‘Oh, Del, Eric, oh, Eric, oh fuck, Del,’ Harry mumbles, words streaming from his mouth with no control. He’s been building up to the touch all night, at last satisfied, and he knows he’s embarrassingly close to climax already. 

‘Good boy, Winksy, come on, that’s it,’ Eric replies, but Harry hardly registers the words, and barely hears Dele’s choked, laughing ‘fuck, Diet, he’s gonna come in his pants,’ before he does just that, convulsing against Dele and slumping onto his shoulder, sweaty and breathless.

‘You okay, Winksy?’ Dele asks, rubbing his back in soft circular motions, heroically ignoring the raging erection straining against his jeans.

‘Yeah, oh my- yeah, yeah, I am.’ he pants, kissing Dele’s neck as he properly comes to. 

‘Did so well for us, baby,’ Eric agrees, his voice slightly strained. ‘How are you gonna thank Dele?’

‘What?’ Harry asks, still a little dazed.

‘Gonna blow me, Winksy? Come to the bathroom and prove me right about those lips?’ Dele asks, eyes more clouded with lust than Harry thought possible.

‘Kay,’ Harry nods shyly, manoeuvring himself off Dele’s lap on shaky legs. They sneak out of the room, fully aware of the attention they’re attracting, but Harry doesn’t even notice the lap dance Jan is giving Paulo because he’s too concerned with the voice in their ears telling him how to blow Dele like Eric doesn’t know just how good he is.

When Dele shoves him to his knees in the bathroom it’s rougher than he’d like, but Dele looks pretty pent up and Harry just gets to work on the fly and buttons, Dele complaining and swiping aimlessly at his hands, and if Eric wasn’t busy in their ears Harry might comment that he’d be faster if Dele didn’t insist on buying such pretentious trousers. When he’s freed Dele’s cock he wastes no time, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip, before moving down to swallow down until it hits the back of his throat. He chokes but Dele puts a hand on the back of his head and Harry stops struggling.

‘Good boy,’ he mumbles, guiding Harry’s head with a tight grip on his fluffy hair. ‘Fuck, Winksy, that’s so good - oh, Diet, he looks so good,’ he babbles.

‘What does he look like?’ Eric urges, the sound of his hand only adding to the atmosphere. 

‘His lips are stretched around my cock - fuck, his eyes, man, they’re so big, his fucking eyelashes, Diet, look like a girl’s, so fucking pretty,’ Dele pants, looking down at him with hooded eyes that somehow mix deep fondness with a desire that’s making Harry hard again already. ‘Oh, and he feels so good, so wet, so - oh, Diet, I’m gonna come, wanna come down his fucking throat,’ he babbles, Harry dutifully suckling on the head then dipping down as far as he can.

‘Good boy, Winksy, you gonna let him come down your throat? Gonna swallow it all down? Take it like a good boy?’

Harry hums, and the vibration sends Dele over the edge, thrusting into Harry’s mouth as he spills down his throat with a loud groan. Harry swallows obediently, grimacing at the taste but still impossibly aroused. He looks up at Dele, batting his eyelashes sluttily, cum dripping down his bottom lip, and grins at the way Dele rolls his eyes and helps him up.

‘Fuck, boys, that was something.’ Eric’s laugh is low and laced with burning hot desire. ‘I’m so hard.’ he breathes, hot and heavy down the phone.

‘What, that wasn’t enough to get you off?’ Dele grumbles.

‘Just cause I didn’t come in my pants?’ Eric jibes, his voice more than a little breathy. ‘Come on, you need a breather or are you ready for another go?’

‘Fucking hell, Diet, already?’ Dele breathes, but Harry’s already let out an impatient whimper and Eric chuckles.

‘Harry, baby, pull your jeans down, okay, and hands on the wall.’ Eric instructs, his voice low as Harry scrambles to follow. ‘Lean over a bit, baby, arse in the air. That’s my good boy.’ he continues, his voice soothing. ‘Start with one finger, Del. Suck on it, Harry, make it nice and wet.’

‘Not half bossy, are you, Diet,’ Dele grumbles as Harry suckles on his finger, licking the underside carefully like it’s something else entirely, and it’s only natural for Dele to stir downstairs.

‘Enough of the lip, thank you, Dele.’ Eric tuts. ‘Actually, yes, let’s put that mouth to better use.’ Dele can hear the smirk in Eric’s voice at how clever he thinks he’s being, and if they hadn’t co-authored the plan he’d think it was just designed as one long way to annoy him. ‘Arse out, Harry, that’s a good boy. Del, I want you to tell me how he tastes.’

Dele kisses his way down Harry’s spine, and Harry’s knees buckle when he places a wet, messy kiss on his pucker before going further. He puts his arm up again and Harry sucks on his fingers again, squirming against the wall until Dele puts a hand on his lower back to steady him. He hears Eric groan appreciatively and moans louder. Dele pulls away and replaces his tongue with a dripping finger.

‘He tastes pink.’ Dele croaks. ‘He tastes sweet, like he’s fresh, and new. Fuck, he tastes like a virgin, like he’s never been fucked out of his mind. How, Winksy?’ He accentuates his question with a second finger, crooking them inside to hit the spot he knows will make Harry cry out, and is amply rewarded when Harry lurches forward and moans like a pornstar. ‘How do you taste like you were just born for us? Born for cock?’

Eric lets out a gutteral moan at the other end and Dele laughs darkly into Harry’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready for me, Winksy?’

‘Please,’ Harry whines, arching at the sudden emptiness but quickly pacified with a thumb in his mouth that he suckles wantonly.

‘Good boy, are you gonna take Dele like a good boy?’ Eric mutters, blatantly close.

‘Mm,’ he hums as Dele enters him, shuddering at the sudden movement.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Dele groans, running his other hand up and down Harry’s side until it settles on his hip. ‘Oh, he’s so tight. Oh, Diet, you’d better be fucking close, cause I’m gonna come any minute.’

‘You ready, Harry, baby? Did you get all worked up from blowing Dele, ready to come again for us?’ he pants.

Dele removes his thumb and Harry gasps in agreement. He moans, the pitch undulating as Dele thrusts relentlessly into the wall. 

‘Good boy, are you gonna come for us?’ Eric growls.

‘Yes - please, please Daddy,’ he babbles, and a switch flicks somewhere inside Dele, who doubles his speed and force, fucking Harry into incoherence, Eric’s hasty panting in their ears only adding to the chaos. 

‘Good boy, come on, oh, Del-‘

‘Fuck, Winksy, you’re so tight-‘

‘Come on, baby-’

‘Oh, Del, oh, fuck, daddy-’

‘I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come-’

~-~-~

‘Hey, Tanguy? Can we borrow your phone?’

Tanguy looks at them with a confused expression. ‘What? You don’t have a phone?’

‘My phone is dead,’ Dele explains. ‘And Harry doesn’t have roaming.’

‘What?’ he says again, looking confused.

‘We need to call a car, can we just borrow your phone?’ Harry explains, reaching forward for where it’s sitting in his hand.

Tanguy snatches it away as if he’s been burned. ‘Hey! No! You have had enough ‘phone’ for one day!’ he says, his face the picture of horror. ‘Do what you like, but me, I am going home!’


End file.
